Guns N' Roses
by Black-Fox49
Summary: Feliciano is a man destroyed by the horrors of war. Ludwig is his life-long friend, doing his best to help him. In the end, it's the little things that count. / GerIta oneshot, PTSD and depression, also there's some green soldier dudes and pasta.


**So, it sure has been a while since I last posted something. Yeah, a lot has changed since then! I'm considerably older now and I believe my writing has improved. Unfortunately, I haven't been publishing on here or on Wattpad, and I don't have any new fanfiction to post. So, here's one from about two years ago (!) that won me a contest in some forums. Enjoy!**

Feliciano Vargas was a very sick man. Although, sick seemed to be an understatement. It was more of a disease; a raging sense of failure he couldn't shove away. No matter what anyone told him, no matter the medication he took, the fact that thinking- no, to him it was knowing- that he failed was a weight of guilt on his heart.

Some of the man's time was spent staring into space; this could go on for hours if allowed. Just thinking, contemplating of what he could have done differently. Other times he'd be screaming, or crying, with seemingly no sign of stopping. And, when he was a bit more content, he would play with little green army men action figures. Acting out what he wished had happened, what he knew he could have done to not have failed.

He'd been such a jubilant young man before everything had happened. He was young; only two years out of high school, and he'd been in army training since sophomore year. A few weeks after graduation, he was drafted to fight in Afghanistan. At first he was pretty excited to get in on the action, and proud that all his hard work would be paid off. But, after only one month on enemy territory, he became the sole survivor of his platoon. Every other man, every other soldier, was killed. And he'd seen it. He'd watched those men die. He'd been held captive by the resistance and been tortured for information. All over his body, they'd given him scars, burned his skin, broken his legs causing permanent damage. When the army finally saved him from his period of captivity, he was so scarred from the experience that they had no choice but to send him home and give him free medical care. Nowadays, there was only one person who could even try to bring a smile to the man's face.

Ludwig Beilschmidt was a long time friend of Feliciano, knowing him since they were small children. Of course, back then Ludwig also thought Feli was a girl. But that was beside the point; they'd always been very close, the German taking good care of his Italian friend. Now, as Feliciano returned from Afghan, Ludwig was again put to the test with the task of taking care of Feli more than ever. Instead of just saving him from the Italian's older brother, he was now in charge of saving Feliciano from his own mind. Raging in the Italian's head were flashbacks, which overtook him if he was not kept occupied. So Ludwig started working from home, letting the Italian make a permanent residence there with him, to keep a better eye on him.

As Feliciano sat at the dining room table playing his little army man game, Ludwig would work in his office in the next room. At the moment, that was exactly what was happening. Green plastic army men were littering the table, slight Italian hands moving them around occasionally. It was a time-consuming and occupying thing for Feli to do, which is exactly why Ludwig encouraged it so much. Without the game, the German would have a crazed and emotional Italian roaming his house 24 hours of the day. Not an option, what with work to do.

After two hours of this silent ritual, Ludwig walked up Feliciano, carefully whispering his name before placing a hand on his tiny shoulder. Jumping only slightly, Feli turned to look at the man standing behind him.

"Feliciano, it's time to eat. Do you want pasta?" Ludwig suggested, although he knew the answer. Even after a month of flat out torture there was one thing no one could change about Feli. He still loved pasta.

"Si." Feliciano curtly nodded, getting out of the chair while Ludwig moved out of his way. Despite many doctors telling him not to walk when unnecessary, the Italian continued to insist upon moving around on his own. They'd placed furniture around the house in strategic places, so while walking Feli could catch his balance whenever he needed by leaning on whatever was nearest. Couches, chests of drawers, even randomly placed chairs were scattered throughout the house.

Ludwig had always loved Feliciano. More than he cared to ever admit, as he'd never been one to really show his feelings. As a high schooler, his friend Feliciano was the one having girls fawn over him, while Ludwig kept his crush to his own knowledge the entire time. Since seventh grade, he'd thought he had a slight fondness for Feliciano. After both himself and Feliciano had joined the military, Ludwig helped him keep healthy and try to build up stamina. Not to make him feel too pressured, but to try and show that he cared.

Now, as Feliciano was getting up from his chair, Ludwig had turned away to walk back to the kitchen. He was thinking about the plate of cold pasta that he'd heat up in the microwave along with tomato sauce for Feliciano. He was thinking about how Feliciano would sit himself down- always in the seat closest to the door, for whatever reason- while the pasta was heating. He thought about how Feliciano would jump if the timer on the microwave rang, so Ludwig would be careful to open it before it went off.

He wasn't thinking that a slender, shaky hand would carefully reach to hold onto his own hand.

Ludwig looked back at the fragile man who'd reached out for him, who was staring at him with wide, expectant hazel eyes. The smile lines next to those eyes were there, just as they always were. Quiet reminders of the grins that used to don Feliciano's face. They had grown faint ever since he'd stopped smiling all that time ago. But now, Ludwig saw, they were crinkled just slightly, as Feliciano curled the corners of his lips up to show the slightest of smiles. A hardly-there expression.

"Let's get that pasta," Feliciano told him. Something had clicked in Feliciano's mind. There was always one person who he could count on. Someone who knew what he'd want for lunch every time, someone who knew what time he liked to go to bed and what shows he liked to watch. Someone who would ask the neighbors to bring home the groceries just so that Feliciano wouldn't have to be left alone, and could tell when Feliciano was feeling bad and would take the day off of work just to stay with him. Of anyone in the world, Feliciano knew that Ludwig was the one who would always take care of him, and that was all he needed.


End file.
